


Four Lessons Fox Mulder Wishes He Taught His Son (And One That He Does)

by dksfwm



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2019-02-11 21:55:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12944787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dksfwm/pseuds/dksfwm
Summary: If Mulder had had the chance to raise William, he would have taught him all kinds of things. These are a few.





	Four Lessons Fox Mulder Wishes He Taught His Son (And One That He Does)

i.  
When his son is three, Fox Mulder catches William jumping on the couch.

As a result of too much ice cream—they had taken a day trip to the beach, and Mulder promised they would cool off with ice cream on the way home—no dinner, over exhaustion from being in the sun all day, and the territory of just being a toddler, Will knocks over the vase that sat on the table behind the couch. Mulder watches the vase fall and shatter against the hardwood, not having enough time to react and catch it, while Will’s eyes go wide with panic. Careful not to step on the glass and dirt that had scattered throughout the floor, Mulder approaches Will, first checking to make sure he is all right.

When he asks his son how the vase broke, his son simply says, “I don’t know.” _Kid, you’re currently standing with one foot on the arm of the couch and the other foot stuck between two of the cushions. There’s no way you’re getting out of this_ , he thinks. But Mulder just purses his lips and says, “William, try again.” William. Mulder rarely calls him by his birth name, only when he means business. Catching his son in a lie is serious enough to warrant the use of the full first name. Will drops his gaze first, then the rest of his head follows. Mulder’s seen that look of guilt and embarrassment many times, not only from his son. So much like Scully, he muses.

It’s almost a minute before Will speaks again; Mulder stands there with his arms folded over his chest, knowing not to press his son or he will never confess. Maintaining his downcast posture, Will mumbles, “I broke the vase,” followed by a outburst of tears. Mulder scoops Will up from the couch, his arms immediately going around his father’s neck and his face pressing into Mulder’s shoulder.

“Are you mad at me, Daddy?” Will shudders, his speech muffled from keeping his lips against Mulder’s t-shirt.

“I’m mad that you lied, yes, but I’m not as mad about you breaking the vase. Your mother, on the other hand…” Will’s wails are piercing now, preventing Mulder from continuing his sentence. Boy, did I pick the wrong thing to say, he thinks.

But he knows that Scully will be furious when she sees what has happened. Aside from the fact that this was Scully’s favorite vase, one of the few things she kept when she cleaned out Melissa’s apartment all those years ago, she has told Will countless times never to jump on the couch. Mulder has suggested that if they get a trampoline for the backyard—Scully rejected the idea immediately due to potential safety hazards and insisting that Will is too young, despite Mulder’s assurance that they could put a net around it—maybe Will wouldn’t spend his time jumping on the couch. And no matter how desperately he wants to say “I told you so” when Scully, who had been attempting to remove all of the sand from the car, inevitably walks into the living room, he keeps his mouth shut, recognizing that this is a moment where they need to parent together.

And the inevitable comes as soon as Mulder has the thought. “What’s going on? Why is Will crying…” Scully pauses, taking in the sight of the floor, vase and flowers and dirt strewn about. For a beat, Mulder thinks Scully may cry, too, as she realizes which vase now lays in pieces at her feet; he pleads with her silently to tone down her impending frustration. She looks up at Mulder, and he can see how her eyes have become glassy. _Please, Scully, don’t upset him even more_.

“Will, do you want to tell Mommy what happened?” Mulder’s tone is gentle and just loud enough for Scully to hear over Will’s suppressed cries.

Will takes a few deep breaths, keeping his arms around Mulder’s neck and his feet locked around Mulder’s waist, but turns his head so he’s facing Scully. “Mommy, I broke your pretty vase.” He just manages to choke out “vase” before a fresh wave of tears break free, and he turns back into Mulder’s shoulder.

Scully toes around the dirt and broken glass, coming to stand in front of Mulder, and begins rubbing Will’s back. She closes her eyes in an attempt to clear them, not wanting to show Will, or Mulder, for that matter, just how saddened she is. But Mulder can tell anyway, and when a small, single tear begins to trail down Scully’s cheek, Mulder catches it with his thumb and expresses a weak smile, offering her an overtone of solace.

“How did you break my vase, baby?” Scully asks, mimicking Mulder’s earlier soft cadence.

Will’s response is muffled again, unable to turn his face from its position against Mulder’s shoulder, but Scully is pretty sure she already knows the answer. “I was jumping on the couch. I know you always tell me not to, but I did it anyway.” He sniffles, and Mulder can feel the wetness from Will’s crying soaking through his shirt.

Scully holds her arms out, and Mulder transfers Will over to her. Will continues the same demeanor around Scully as he did when he was in Mulder’s grasp. Scully cradles Will’s head and lovingly shushes him. The last time Will got this worked up, he cried so much he developed a headache, and Scully really wants to avoid the unpleasantness that can occur with such a situation. The broken vase is unpleasant enough.

“Are you sad, Mommy?” Will hiccups into his mother’s shoulder. Mulder, who has begun picking up the pieces of glass from the vase, looks up from his crouched position, wanting to sympathize with Scully. But in that moment, his heart breaks for Will, who is feeling ashamed for bringing Scully sorrow.

“I am sad that the vase is broken,” Scully replies, “but I am more thankful that you’re not hurt. And I’m glad that you told me the truth, Will.”

“The truth is so important, Will,” Mulder adds, tossing the pieces of glass into the trash. “Even if it hurts someone, it hurts them more to tell a lie, or to not tell them anything at all. And sometimes, it hurts us to say it, too, when the truth isn’t good. But you have to be honest to others. That’s how you earn respect. Once you lie to someone, it’s much harder to earn their respect…”

“Mulder, stop, he gets it,” Scully says, stroking the back of Will’s head. “I’ve listened to you ramble on and on about truth for twelve years now. Let’s at least spare him, okay?” Her voice is serious, but her face reveals to Mulder underlying teasing.

“Be nice and always tell the truth, right Daddy?” Will, turning to face his father, suggests now that his crying has subsided.

“That’s right, kiddo.” Mulder kisses Will’s temple. Will squirms in Scully’s arms, his way of asking to be let down.

As soon as Will’s feet hit the ground, Mulder takes his hand and starts walking toward the kitchen to grab a broom. “Come on, Will,” Mulder says, “Now it’s time you start to clean up your own messes. You’re a big boy now.” Will groans, and Scully fears another meltdown, but Mulder tickles Will’s side and Will releases a giggle; together, the boys sweep up the remainder of the dirt.

And that is how Fox Mulder teaches his son the significance of honesty and the truth.

————

ii.  
When his son is six, Fox Mulder sits at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper, when William approaches him and finally asks if Mulder could teach him about baseball.

Until that point, Will had been a quiet observer of the sport; they go to a game once or twice a season—sometimes in New York, when Mulder is feeling particularly adventurous, usually in Baltimore, when Scully asserts practicality, and once in DC last season when the Yankees first came to visit the recently-established Nationals for interleague play—and watch whenever they can on TV. But Will never really showed any interest in trying to understand the game. Mulder was heartbroken at first, unable to share something he loved so much with someone he loved so much, but he figured that if he and Scully got along just fine, and she was by far minimally zealous about baseball, then he would be okay if Will were the same way.

So when ultimately, on a warm June morning after Will hears that the Yankees are going to be playing at Camden Yards that night and he asks if they could go to the game, Mulder is completely caught off guard. He’s not quite sure what causes Will’s sudden change in attitude about baseball, but frankly, he doesn’t really care. He’s just exhilarated that Will was the one to ask to go to the game, instead of Mulder usually being the one to advocate for a day at the ballpark.

“You want to go to the Yankees and Orioles game tonight?”

“Yeah, is that okay? I know it’s going to be kind of a long drive and I have camp in the morning, but, Dad, it’s the Yankees. And Roger Clemens is pitching tonight. We’ve gotta go see him!”

Mulder acquiesces, not that it takes much of anything to get him to agree to a Yankees game, and he and Will go to the game; Scully, insisting that it should just be the two of them and enabling her boys to indulge in this bonding time, stays home. They feast on hot dogs and popcorn for dinner, and Mulder allows Will to drink some of his root beer, figuring he would have the entire car ride back to home to detox from the sugar. The Yankees end up losing 4-0, but Mulder catches a foul ball and when he puts the ball in Will’s hands, he swears he’s never seen his son’s blue eyes so bright.

On their way home from the game, just before Will falls asleep, he asks, “Dad, do you think you could teach me how to play soon?” Mulder grins is as wide as it was when Scully put Will in his arms for the first time.

The next morning, Mulder makes sure his schedule is clear for the following week—Skinner had brought him back to the FBI, consulting on profiles here and there, when Will started preschool—and cancels the chess camp that Scully had signed Will up for. Thankfully, Scully doesn’t object.

Mulder and Will spend every morning, afternoon, and often evening that week going over the fundamentals of the game, specifically how to throw, catch, field, and hit. During the evenings they aren’t outside, Mulder and Will are glued to the TV in the den, witnessing the Yankees slowly obtain a winning record, which they hadn’t had all season; Mulder uses this time to explain the rules of the game.

Throughout the course of the week, Will picks up catching and throwing quickly; though he stumbles when he fields at times, which Mulder attributes it to Will’s oversized feet that are growing faster than the rest of his body—Mulder fears that his son will outgrow him someday—Will’s fielding is solid. It’s the hitting that Will struggles with the most. Even with using the tee Mulder buys for him to practice with, as opposed to the using the soft-toss method, the ball never makes it more than three feet in front of him.

“Hips before hands!” Scully calls out to them one evening after getting home from work, watching them from the back deck.

“Scully, he knows that already!” Mulder shouts back. The furrow in his brow matches his son’s, whose frustration has reached an all-time high.

They’ve been practicing hitting all day, Mulder continuing to watch Will’s swings. His form is perfect: Knees and elbows slightly bent, with the back elbow and shoulder somewhat elevated; right hand over left, grip properly established; feet facing the tee. For all intents and purposes, Will should be making substantial contact with every swing, but the power behind the swing just isn’t there. He never closes his eyes, either, which is something a lot of kids do when they first try to swing, not understanding hand-eye coordination. Will slams the bat against the ground, prepared to huff out his anger, but Mulder is not quite ready to give up.

“Will, pick up the bat one more time,” Mulder requests.

Will, feeling slightly dejected, reaches for the bat with his left hand and starts to bring himself into a batting stance, pausing slightly to remember which hand goes on top of the other. Mulder has this sudden moment of clarity, and he wants to kick himself for not seeing it sooner. He says nothing, just moves himself behind his son, guiding him to the opposite side of the tee. He switches Will’s hand position so the left hand rests on top of the right, encouraging Will to mirror the stance he was in a few seconds before.

After placing Will in the new, hopefully more suitable, position, Mulder bends down and places the ball on the tee. He steps back a safe distance, presumably where an umpire would stand, and gestures at Will to take a swing. When the he hears the forceful aluminum sound of ball-on-bat contact, he thinks the last time a hit sounded this sweet was when he taught Scully all those years ago (he ignores the lingering memory of immediately after their batting practice, when Scully told him that she in fact had two brothers and most certainly already knew how to hit a baseball). He watches the ball soar out past their make-shift infield and brings his focus back to Will, whose grin stretches from ear to ear.

“Hey, Scully, it looks like we’ve got a cross-dominant player on our hands!” Mulder exclaims, his voice booming and his smile beaming.

“What does cross-dominant mean?” Will asks.

“It means that you throw right handed and you hit left handed, or vice versa. It’s actually becoming more common among professional players, who are normally right handed, to hit left handed because lefty hitters have the advantage of being closer to first base when they’re at bat, meaning they don’t have to run as much after they make contact with the ball. They’re more likely to be safe, especially during an infield hit.”

Mulder’s pretty sure that his entire explanation goes over Will’s head, but his son responds with the most enthusiastic “cool” he’s ever heard. Will reaches into the bucket of balls placed in front of the tee and loads another one onto the tee, positioning himself exactly as he did before with his left hand over his right. This time, when Will makes contact, his swing is powerful enough to have the ball almost bounce off the shed.

And that is how Fox Mulder teaches his son how to play baseball.  
  
————

iii.  
When his son is twelve, Fox Mulder picks William up from his first day of school. Once William is in the car, he announces that he wants the new PlayStation 4 that will be releasing in November.

“It’s so cool, Dad!” William is lively and animated, brushing off Mulder’s questions about his first day of seventh grade, apparently finding discussion about gaming systems of more importance. “They made the processing unit less complicated, and you can even stream the games, too, and play them remotely, and the controllers have a touchpad on them now. We need to get it!”

Mulder wonders how Will could possibly know all this stuff; they’ve never had a PlayStation before. But he assumes that Will’s friends have talked about it enough that Will has absorbed the specs of the new gaming unit. “Will, your mom and I are not just going to buy you a PlayStation. Can’t you put it on your Christmas list?”

“Dad, I’m already one of the lame kids at school because we don’t have a gaming system. And don’t say, ‘but what about the Wii’ because I never play on it. You and Mom use it more than I do. I have to get the PS4 as soon as it’s released. All of my friends are getting it!”

“You know, Will, in Buddhist philosophy, one of the Four Noble Truths states that craving or clinging to an idea or a material possession keeps a person trapped in state of dissatisfaction, and therefore they never find relief from suffering. I don’t know what kind of values your friends’ parents are instilling in them, but in our house, we don’t live a life of suffering, and adults don’t just buy you things because you want them. Unless it’s your birthday or Christmas.”

“We’re not Buddhists, Dad. I know you believe in a lot of crazy things, but you do realize you married a Catholic, right? And I want it on record that although you and Mom bought the Wii for my sixth birthday, later that night you plugged it in to play Mario Kart, drank four beers each, and then you screamed, and I quote, ‘Even when your feet don’t have to reach the pedals, you still suck at driving, Scully!’ Who does something like that?”

Mulder is shocked at his son’s sharp response. “Hey, I don’t think your mom would count Buddhism out entirely of things she doesn’t believe. And how do you know about what we did that night of your birthday?”

“You guys woke me up with your screaming! I thought maybe Mom was still mad over the fact that you gave me two pieces of cake and let me stay up way past my bedtime, but clearly I was wrong. And the beer bottles were still on the coffee table the next morning. I may have been six, but I wasn’t stupid.”

Mulder, feeling slightly called-out over Will’s Mario Kart comments, bites his tongue. He considers his options, just outright buying the console for Will, which Scully would never agree to, or making him suffer the forty days until Christmas. He knows Will doesn’t have any money to buy it on his own, but Mulder is familiar with Will’s tenacity; when he sets his mind to something, one way or another, Will is going to make sure he owns that PlayStation.

They’re about two blocks away from the house when Mulder gets an idea. It’s just enough of a loophole that Will, and Scully, for that matter, may hopefully go for it.

“Okay Will, how about this: What if you were to earn enough money to buy the PlayStation yourself?”

“Dad, no business in their right mind would hire a twelve-year-old kid to work for them.”

“Well what if you did some chores around the house?”

“I already put my dishes in the dishwasher after every time I eat.”

“No, Will. I’m talking about more difficult tasks. Like, mowing the lawn. Scrubbing the tiles of the bathroom floors. Doing all of our laundry. Actually cooking dinner. Those sort of chores.”

“I don’t see how I’m going to get a PlayStation by doing chores.”

“You know, for such a smart kid, you can really be pea-brained at times.” Will turns his whole body in the passenger seat, ready to argue his way into persuading Mulder to make up for a childhood he never really had; sensing there was more to what his father had to say, and not wanting to upset him by broaching the topic of his father’s unfortunate youth—it occurs to Will that he is the same age his dad was when his sister disappeared—Will holds back and waits to hear Mulder’s proposal.

“What if I payed you to do those things?” Mulder proceeds, “We could set up a system, like two dollars for each load of laundry, washed, dried, and folded. Same for each load of dishes, washed and put away. Five dollars to mow the lawn. Ten to scrub the floors and cook dinner. You do whatever chores, as needed, and I pay you. Then, maybe by the time the PlayStation comes out, you’ll have enough money to buy it on your own.”

“But isn’t it just easier if you give me the money?”

“Nothing worth having is ever easy, Will.”

“Is that why it took seven years before you kissed Mom?”

Man, this kid’s wit is something else, Mulder determines, realizing his son got a double-dose from both himself and Scully. “What kinds of things do you know, kid?”

Will smirks and contemplates Mulder’s offer as they pull into their driveway. He opens the door, putting his feet on the ledge of the SUV, and looks over at his father from across the hood of the car. “Okay, Dad, I’ll agree to do the chores on one condition.”

 _A condition?_ Mulder thinks, _I’m thinking of paying you to do things around the house that you should already be helping with_. Will continues, “If I earn enough money for the PS4, you’ll take me to the store the day it comes out so I can buy it, and you let me have the first game this time. I don’t want a repeat of the crap you and Mom pulled with the Wii.”

“Deal,” Mulder responds, letting the “crap” slide. He deserves it; it was a pretty crappy thing for him and Scully to have done.

For the next two and a half months, Mulder admires Will’s work ethic. His son’s utter determination to earn the money for the PlayStation is overtly apparent. Will isn’t just making sure his chores get done half-assed, either; he’s thorough, meticulous, frighteningly so, to the point where he’s almost obsessive. Scully comments on the condition of the house since he and Mulder had made the deal, not able to remember the last time, if ever, it has been this clean.

Will has the laundry down almost immediately, not struggling over lights and darks, warms and colds. At least the kid can read labels, Mulder concludes. He has a hard time with folding the fitted sheets, but Mulder works with him the first few times until he gets the hang of it. Something everyone should learn how to do at some point in their life, Mulder believes. Will, after watching his parents intently as they cooked dinner for a few weeks, cooks dinner a few times, including Mulder’s entire birthday dinner. The lasagna is trickier than Will thought it would be, his perfectionism making the task slightly frustrating, but he pulls it off. He even bakes red velvet cupcakes for dessert; for this occasion, Will refuses money, but Scully sneaks twenty dollars into Will’s “PS4 Fund” jar the next morning.

The night before the console is set to release, Will brings his jar downstairs for a final count. He has more than enough to purchase the device; he could probably purchase an additional controller and game, if he wanted. Mulder agrees to take Will to Best Buy after school the next day—he even calls the store the next morning to make sure they have plenty of the consoles in stock, which they do—but he makes Will promise to keep the “PS4 Fund” jar at home so he doesn’t lose it, or get it stolen, at school.

When Will gets in the car after school that Friday, to which he comes practically running almost as soon as the bell rings, his jar is sitting in the front seat of Mulder’s car. Once inside Best Buy, Will makes a beeline straight for the video game section. When Mulder finally catches up to him, Will has the console in his hands and is staring at the selection of games, trying to decide which one to choose.

“Dad, do you think you could go wait in the car or something? I’m not sure what game I want, and you hovering over me isn’t going to make it any easier to decide. I’d prefer if you didn’t rush me, either.” Will has this genuine look of independence in his eyes, a look that reminds Mulder so much of Scully in the early days of their partnership, as if he wants to prove to Mulder that he’s capable of making every decision himself. To Will, this entire ordeal is his and his alone.

The minute they get back from the store, Will hustles up the stairs to his room with his Best Buy bag and shuts the door. Mulder already regrets allowing Will to buy the gaming system. His concern for both Will’s social life and their own relationship rises; he hopes that Will’s grades won’t suffer as a result, too. I’m overreacting, Mulder admonishes, He’s just excited. The initial obsession will fade with time.

Mulder is halfway through dinner preparations when he hears the unmistakable squeak of the stairs. Will bolts down to the bottom step; his eagerness, Mulder finds, slightly charming.  
“Dad, can you come up to my room for a minute?” Will asks, immediately turning to run back up the stairs. Mulder can tell that Will is trying to underplay his excitement through his calm request, but it’s negated by the way Will rushes back to his room.

When Mulder gets up to Will’s room, the PS4 is hooked up to the monitor Will has been using for his computer, and two controllers lay on his desk. The screen displays the opening sequence to NBA 2k13. Will picks up the controllers and hands one to Mulder, beaming, inviting him to engage in a round of computer-generated basketball. Will lets Mulder play as the Knicks, but shows no mercy during the game itself.

Scully summons the boys back downstairs when she gets home and sees dinner partially underway on the counter of the kitchen. As she goes to change out of her work clothes, Mulder and Will pause their game, Will joining Mulder in getting dinner together.

As Will stirs the pot of tomato sauce, he looks over at Mulder, offering a sincere smile. “Thanks for making me work for it, Dad. I think I appreciate it, more than I would if you had just bought it for me, knowing that I earned it and helped you and Mom out along the way.”

And that is how Fox Mulder teaches his son the value of hard work and the meaningfulness something has when you earn it for yourself.  
  
————

iv.  
When his son is seventeen, Fox Mulder accompanies William on a tour of Boston College.

Secretly, Scully is thrilled that Will is interested in a private Catholic university, especially one with an emphasis on research. Not so secretly, Mulder is thrilled that Will is interested in a university with a half-decent sports program, even if the sport they are best known for is hockey.

Not that Mulder isn’t thrilled that the academic appeal of BC has caught Will’s eye. Will has expressed interest in both biochemistry and criminal and social justice, and the school offers degrees in both fields. Will swears that his enthusiasm for both science and the law has nothing to do with either of his parents’ time with the FBI, that the classes he’s taken over the years has been the real influence for him. But Scully knows that genetics and environment shape a person, the old “nature versus nurture” argument, and Will clearly had his fair share of exposure to both subjects. Thankfully, he inherited both of their intelligence, as well, and Scully senses that he would succeed in whichever subject he chooses.

And while Mulder is excited at the prospect of attending sporting events at BC, he’s not sure if Will is even thinking about playing for the university; at least, Mulder knows Will hasn’t been recruited, but he could always try to walk on. Either baseball or basketball, the school would be lucky to have Will play for them. He’s currently the fastest base runner on his varsity baseball team, and his height, already even with Mulder, is advantageous for a basketball player.

Mid-September in Boston is quite comfortable. Mulder, Scully, and Will drive up after Scully finishes with work on a Thursday, allowing Will to play hooky from school on Friday so they can attend their scheduled tour. Scully insists that they rent a room closer to the heart of downtown Boston, the 20 minute drive to campus worth it for the chance to stay in an actual hotel compared to the lodging that Mulder always manages to find. Once, Mulder found a vintage airstream trailer on Airbnb and practically begged Scully to stay there for the night. While the renovations the owners had done to the trailer were quite remarkable, the “bed” wasn’t exactly a real bed, and Scully’s back reminded her of that fact for three days following their stay.

During their tour of campus, Scully comments on the architecture of the buildings, admiring the combined Gothic Revival and Beaux-Arts styles reflected throughout the structures, while Mulder makes countless Dad Jokes and is overly friendly with their tour guide. Will rolls his eyes and groans in slight embarrassment, but looks over at his mom, who is laughing right along with his dad as opposed to concealing her face in shame. Mulder’s grip on Scully’s hand is firm, fingers laced together, and Will realizes that, unlike a lot of his friends’ parents, his parents’ relationship is still unwavering and blissful; they are unafraid of what others may think of them.

After the tour, lunch on campus, and a visit to the bookstore, the three of them drive back to downtown and take a leisurely stroll around Boston Common, encompassed with the beginnings of fall: The pleasant 75º air with a slight breeze; the pop of reds, oranges, yellows, and greens as the leaves start to change. Mulder is reminded of his childhood in New England, and he thinks of how, when he was a teenager, he always found himself wandering this very area, the necessity to escape Chilmark overwhelming. He hopes that if Will were to attend school in Boston, his son could find sanctuary in the city, just as he once did.

It is Scully who breaks their comfortable silence first. “So, Will, now that you’ve toured, are you sold on BC?”

“If I get in, I think it would be a great place to attend,” Will replies. “I just can’t decide if biochemistry or criminal justice is a better fit for me. I feel like the biochem majors are too… intense. But the criminal justice majors don’t seem all that happy to be there. Like they didn’t realize exactly what they were getting into, you know?”

“Regardless,” Scully counters, “the school has a competitive acceptance rate and relatively high overall GPA and SAT average. Even if the other students seem like they’re slacking off, it’s not a reflection of their intelligence. Besides, that’s not how you’re wired; you’re driven, you need success like you need air, and I think you would really thrive there.”

“You know,” Mulder chimes in, “they say that whoever you surround yourself with is actually a reflection of who you are.”

“It’s whomever, Dad, not whoever.”

“Nobody likes a grammar geek, Will.” Scully chuckles at Mulder’s remark, remembering a similar comment he made to her, although regarding a different subject, many years ago.

“Grammar is important. So, what do the people you surround yourself with say about you, Dad? You only ever hang out with Mom, Uncle Frohike, Uncle Langley, and Uncle Byers. And Skinner, every once in a while, does he count?”

“Quality over quantity, my smartass offspring. Wait, you’re not my friend?”

“You might want to reevaluate your idea of quality,” Will quips, and Scully shoots him a look that borders on a death-glare.

“At least where Uncle Frohike is concerned, that is,” Will remedies, and Scully softens, smirks even, and resumes her observation of their exchange. “And, you’re my dad, it’s different. Dads can’t be friends with their kids. I mean, they can get along and everything, but, actually be friends?”

“I’ll remember that when the time comes to write your tuition checks.”

“Will, you don’t have to decide your future right this second,” Scully cuts in. “Today was just about sparking some interests. But just know that whatever you decide to do, your dad and I fully support you.”

They make their way over to the Boston Public Garden, and Scully heads back to their hotel, eager to contemplate dinner options. Mulder and Will and find a bench overlooking the pond and take in the scenery. Wisps of clouds stretch across the sky, looking almost pink with the setting sun, their background transforming from bright to dark. They’re surrounded by color, father and son; Mulder struggles to remember a time where he wasn’t. Surely not since Will came into his life.

He turns his head slightly to observe the colors that make up his son: Pale complexion, but not as pale as Scully, with subtle freckles that span his cheeks and the bridge of his nose; once-red hair that has become sandy brown as he’s aged; dark blue eyes that remind him of sapphires. Although Will’s profile is strikingly similar to his own, Mulder sees Scully clear as day when he looks at his son.

“Dad, you’re staring at me,” Will says, maintaining his gaze fixated on the pond. “I can feel it.”  
  
“Sometimes I just forget that you’re real,” Mulder responds. At this, Will turns his head and gives his father a puzzled look.

“Your mom and I, we never thought you would be possible. She didn’t think she could ever have a child that was biologically hers; I honestly think she had given up all hope, before she found out she was pregnant with you, that is. And then, with your difficult birth… I almost lost both of you the day you were born, did you know that?” Will shakes his head, familiar with the unusual way he came into the world, but not acquainted with the latest development Mulder shares.

“But I look at you, and although you’re built like me, you’re so much like your mom in almost every other respect. And I think I love you even more because you’re so much like her. I look at you, and I’m reminded that although I screwed up our lives a lot during the early years of our partnership and friendship, at least I did something right. You’re my miracle, Will.”

Will, who has turned his head back toward the pond, is quiet for a while before he speaks. “We should probably go find Mom and grab some dinner. I’m starving.” Will gets up from the bench and begins to walk in the direction toward the hotel. When Mulder doesn’t follow, he stops and turns around. “Dad?”

“I’m coming,” Mulder says, feeling slightly desolated at Will’s dismissal of his sincerity. He braces his hands against the seat and stands, a reminder of the aging he wishes he could slow down. When he catches up to his son, he puts his arm around Will’s shoulders, and is encouraged when Will doesn’t pull away.

“You know, Dad, you said earlier that the people you hang around are a reflection of yourself, and I think you’re right. Because although I have my friends, I’m constantly around you and Mom. And you may think I’m a lot like Mom, but she and I think I’m actually a pretty perfect combination of both of you guys. In how I look, how I act, and even my interests. She always says I got the best attributes of both of you and her. So whatever image I give off, I hope that there are some parallels of you.”

 _I have one hell of a kid_ , Mulder thinks. He’s at a loss for words, amazed at his son’s authenticity and benevolence. He doesn’t know what he did to deserve the chance to raise someone as wonderful as Will, and he knows that the credit, by far, isn’t all his, but he’s so glad for whatever granted him the opportunity.

“I’m going to miss you when you go off to college.”

“Don’t get sappy on me again, old man. I think you’ve poured your heart out enough for one day.”

Mulder chuckles as they stroll back to their hotel, the setting sun continuing to canvas the sky.

And that is when Fox Mulder realizes that somewhere along the way, he taught his son how to be genuine.  
  
————  
  
v.  
On the morning Fox Mulder leaves to go into hiding, his son is four days old.

Mulder wakes to the sound of water moving in the pipes of Scully’s apartment, muted on the tiles of the shower by the closed bathroom door. He props himself up and looks across the bed into the bassinet to find his son wide awake, one arm escaping the swaddle. He’s hoping Scully fed the baby before she got into the shower, not that there’s much he can do if she didn’t. Mulder slides to the other side of the bed and peers down at his son, whose face has become bright red and twisted. When a soft cry releases from the baby’s tiny mouth, Mulder stands and lifts his son to his shoulder, bouncing slightly and pacing as an attempt to soothe him.

He does a quick inspection of the baby’s diaper, eliminating it as a reason for potential distress, but the baby continues to squirm, so Mulder gently rubs his back and begins to speak to his son.

“Your mom will never admit it, but she likes when I do this with her, too. I mean, not the carrying her on my shoulder part, she’d probably shoot me again if I tried to do that. Did you know that she shot me once? I’ll tell you that story when you’re older. But she loves it when I rub my hand in circles along her back. It calms her down. I’m hoping that if you’re anything like her, it will work for you, too.”

Mulder’s not sure if his soothing hands or his gentle cadence is calming William, but the whimpers are fading, so he continues with both actions.

“Will, I need you to take care of your mom while I’m gone. I don’t know how long I’m going to have to be away from you guys, and your mom is going to convince you that she’s fine, but she won’t be. She won’t show you that she’s hurting because you’re her miracle, our miracle, and she’s going to do everything in her power to make sure you never have to experience pain like she has.

“You know, buddy, your mom named you after my father. And even though he wasn’t the greatest guy, and both her father and her brother are named ‘William,’ too, I think she said she named you after him so that, no matter what, I would always be tied to you somehow. That you’re as much mine as you are hers.

“Your mom is pretty incredible. She’s so smart, like, crazy smart. I think she knows just about every science fact there is to know. She’s pretty intimidating, too, especially with her gun; she could take me in a heartbeat. She’s extraordinarily kind and affectionate with the people she loves. She already loves you so much, Will. And she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known. She has both this obvious and subtle beauty that I can’t quite wrap my head around. I can tell already that you’re probably going to look more like her, and trust me, kid, that’s for the better. She’s going to be the most fantastic mom to you.

“Will, whatever happens, I don’t regret you for a second. If there weren’t threats on my life and if your mom hadn’t insisted, I wouldn’t be leaving. I would stay right here with you, with her. Forever.

“I’m so looking forward to the day, when all this is over, that I can come home and we can be a real, honest-to-God family. Because these few days with you and her hasn’t been enough.

“I can’t wait to someday teach you right from wrong, to always tell the truth; I can’t wait to show you how to hit a baseball and watch Yankees games with you; I can’t wait to tell you about the significance of hard work, why it’s important to earn things for yourself; I can’t wait help you pick out colleges, to tell you that no matter what you want do with the rest of your life, as long as you’re happy and healthy and always willing to learn and to love, and promise to call your mom and me every week, you can be whatever the hell you want to be. Don’t tell your mom I said ‘hell’ in front of you, though.”

Mulder sits back down at the foot of the bed and moves William from his shoulder to his knees. His son has calmed considerably, and he hopes he’ll fall back asleep so Mulder doesn’t have to look into his baby’s eyes as he walks out on him; frankly, one more look at his son, and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to go. He’s already feeling like the biggest coward and the worst father in the world, and he’s only been one for four days.

“I realize I’m asking a lot from you, I mean, you can’t even hold your own head up yet. And I know you probably don’t understand anything I’m saying because well, let’s face it, you are only a few days old. But something tells me you’re going to be an intuitive little guy. Which is why I think you’ll be able to pick up on your mom’s emotions. You’re half me, after all. And if anyone can detect anything and everything that she’s feeling, believe it or not, it’s me.

“You’re going to do great things, kid. I hope I’m around to see them.” Mulder leans forward and nuzzles his nose with the baby’s.

He gets up from the edge of the bed and situates his son back in the bassinet, relieved that he’s fallen back to sleep. Gently, he places his lips on the baby’s forehead, lingering for a few seconds. He strokes his son’s jawline twice, three times, not yet ready to break contact. His grip against the bassinet has turned his knuckles white; his whole body feels tense as he seeks to prevent his resolve from breaking. He hates himself when a single tear breaks free from his closed eyelids, trailing down his cheek and disappearing into his son’s neck.

“I love you so much, Will. Never forget that.” Mulder’s voice, a mere whisper now, is shaking; he backs away and turns around quickly, staring at the doorframe wondering for the thousandth time why he’s going to walk away from him, from them.

He’s not sure when the water in the bathroom stopped running, but it must have at some point, because suddenly a hand is grasping his side, and Scully, clad in comfortable clothes and slightly damp hair, is hugging his waist.

“You should get in the shower,” she says, and Mulder thinks she must have been crying, too, considering how raw her voice sounds. He nods without speaking, the two of them avoiding eye contact, but he kisses the crown of Scully’s head before locking himself in the bathroom.

He waits until the shower is running again before he lets his sobs escape.

His suitcases are packed, scattered around Scully’s living room. He stands in the hall, hair still dripping, towel around his waist, staring at his son and his son’s mother. She’s holding the baby, who is awake again despite Mulder’s attempts to lull him back to sleep earlier, scratching at his stomach, and making soft unintelligible sounds. He’s never seen her like this, yet it’s the most natural thing in the world.

When Scully, finally aware of Mulder’s presence, looks over at him, her smile twitches slightly; anyone other than Mulder wouldn’t have picked up on it. He walks over to where they are on the couch and plants one more kiss on his son’s forehead and whispers against the wriggles, “Bye, kiddo. I’ll see you soon.”

And in those four days together, Fox Mulder is sure he taught his son that his love for him would know no end.


End file.
